Calls In The Night
by KoolJack1
Summary: Following the events of "Friends Like These", Hotch forced Reid to take some time off, but is that really what's best for him? Extreme angst, and could be read as pre-slash. Continuing it!
1. Chapter 1

"Hotch shes back," Reid croaked into the phone, his voice hoarse and frail. Aaron was already out of bed, heading out the door in slippers and pajamas. He stopped getting dressed for these phone calls since he just wound up sleeping at Reid's when he got there. This had became a regular thing for them now, but Hotch was convinced that Reid was really just scaring himself. Regardless, he found himself in route to his young agents apartment.

"Stay calm, Spencer," he noticed Reid seemed to relax easier when he was addressed by his first name, so outside of work; he used it as much as possible, "I'm coming. Just sit down." He heard the labored breathing of the man on the other end of the line, listening as it slowly escalated to hyperventilating; and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He listened as Reid mumbled something about a case file he had to finish, even though Reid hadn't been in the office for two weeks now. Hotch had requested (demanded) that he take some personal time after the case involving the Schizophrenic young man named Ben. Reid complied unwillingly, refusing to answer his calls for two days; until one night Reid called him in a state of panic, much like tonight and many other nights.

Hotch was grateful that Reid lived relatively close, and he was unlocked the door to the apartment in under fifteen minutes. He hung up his cell phone once the door was unlocked and dropped it on the nearest table before searching for Reid. The apartment was silent; eerily silent. Hotch felt his heart rate increase slightly in discomfort, but he slowly headed down the hallway to the bedroom anyway. He passed the bathroom door on his right, taking note that the door was slightly ajar. He hesitated to push the door open and hit the lights; blinking to adjust his eyes. He found Reid curled up between the toilet and shower; phone still clutched to his ear. The younger man had his eyes shut tight against the intrusion of light, one hand held out in a defensive-surrendering gesture. "Spencer, it's me. What's wrong?" Hotch spoke quietly, keeping his distance as his distressed friend blinked up at him.

"Emily was here," he whispered, his pupils enlarged so much his whole eye appeared black. Slowly, Hotch crouched down in front of his agent. This was only one of the many times in the past few weeks that he'd wanted to tell the man before him that the woman who held his heart was still very much alive. He wanted to tell him that all they had to do was find Doyle and she could come home. Shaking the thought, he reached a tentative hand out to take the phone from Reid's long bony fingers-

"You know that's not possible, Spencer. You had a bad dream," Hotch soothed, setting the phone on the edge of the sink and hoisting Reid to his feet.

"No, it wasn't a dream. I was reading a book, and I looked up and she was there," Reid protested, his voice distant. Spencer glanced up at the mirror on their way out of the bathroom and spooked, leaping back suddenly. Hotch steadied him and pulled him out into the hall, letting the smaller man back up against his chest. This was another new habit of his young friend- mirrors held a secret demon that Spencer saw reflected in him- or at least that was what Hotch thought he was seeing. The first time it happened, he attempted to ask; and all he got was a stuttering statistic that 45% of the population have an intense fear of mirrors, mainly because they believe they are the windows to a different dimension. He didn't ask again.

They stumbled into Reid's dark bedroom, and Hotch gently eased back the covers. "Lay down, everything is okay," he reassured when Spencer gave him a desperate, uncertain look. "I'm here, Spencer. I'll be sleeping right over there," he gestured to the recliner in the corner of the room that served as Reid's reading chair. Spencer only hesitated another few seconds before slowly lowering himself onto the bed. Hotch had a brief thought of why- out of the rest of the team- did Reid call him? Not that he was complaining, because he never minded helping Reid in his time of need; but he'd always assumed he'd call Morgan or Garcia first. _Or Emily_, came an after thought; and he quickly chased it away.

He made sure Reid was laying comfortably in bed before taking his usual spot on the chair. His pillows and blankets were folded neatly on the dresser, right where he'd decided to keep them when he figured out this was going to become a recurring event. He made himself comfortable and shut his eyes; planning on just resting them, since he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep again. He heard a shallow breath and a muffled sob from the bed, and he knew Reid was crying. The first time this happened, he'd attempted to try to help his friend; only to discover that Reid wasn't very accepting of a shoulder to cry on. After he'd been shoved away the first time, he'd always taken to listening silently while the other man cried himself back into a restless, nightmare-filled slumber.

Reid didn't fall asleep tonight though, and Hotch heard him tossing and turning long after the quiet cries of sorrow ended. At first, Hotch thought he was having a nightmare and considered getting up to wake him; until Reid threw the covers back and went to get a glass of water, returning with one for himself and a second glass that he set on the dresser next to him. Reid knew he wasn't sleeping, which Hotch had been curious about; yet he didn't speak. He took a seat on the edge of the bed and ran his trembling hands through his unruly hair while Hotch took a few sips of the water. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, but was really a mere minute, before Reid turned to lay back down. Right before Reid turned his head, Hotch could have sworn he saw a ghost of a smile play across his thin lips, and it gave him the chills.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: You guys convinced me, I'm continuing!_

Spencer was restless for the rest of the night, his breathing becoming erratic at one point; so irregular that Hotch actually had to consider calling an ambulance. The air just wouldn't enter his agitated lungs that he had tortured for the past two weeks by waking up screaming. He'd even developed a nasty cough somehow, and Hotch was pretty sure he had stopped taking care of himself all together. When the light in the room was finally too bright to ignore, Aaron got up from his place on the recliner and headed to the kitchen without a word. He rummaged through the poorly stocked cabinets and refrigerator until he was able to produce enough food to suffice the two of them. Half stale cereal, two eggs, oatmeal, and a loaf of bread that had some green slices. He took the ones without the mold, wondering how long the wheat product had been sitting on the counter; deciding that he didn't want to know.

The next task at hand was getting Reid out of bed, which was a big challenge. Depression had set in pretty deeply, and Spencer often had zero motivation to greet the day. 'What's the point?' he once said, his face buried deep in his fluffy pillow, 'not like anything good is going to happen today.' Hotch grabbed his cell and texted Rossi, telling him to call if they had a case, but otherwise he wasn't coming in. Dave knew what was going on, Aaron had confided in him when his constant lack of sleep demanded he share this burden with someone else. Dave had listened slightly, rubbing a hand over his facial hair and raising his eyebrows in surprise. Spencer was losing it, worse than he ever had before; and now Hotch wasn't sure they could save him. Even the ever-optimistic David Rossi was doubting their ability to pick up all the broken pieces of their friend.

Aaron dropped the phone back on the table, not caring that it landed with a thud; and headed down the hallway. Determined, he pulled the covers from over Spencer's head, swallowing back his guilt when the skinny man tried to bury himself back under the covers. "Please let me sleep, Hotch," he protested, shying away from Hotch's hands as they tried to get a hold on him.

"You aren't sleeping, and if I let you stay here; you'll never get up," he argued, reminding himself he was doing the right thing when Spencer flinched as he dragged him to his feet. He had exhausted every other method of getting him out of bed, and tough loved seemed to be the only thing that got the job done. He did have a difficult time ignoring the flinches and whimpers whenever he touched him. He kept telling himself that Spencer was done, mentally. He'd been tortured for most of his life, and he just couldn't ignore it anymore; it had nothing to do with him personally. Reid was a physical person, and having someone in his personal space when he didn't initiate it wasn't something he appreciated. Regardless, Hotch carefully set him down at the kitchen table and set to work at making them something to eat.

Spencer looked on silently for a few minutes before clearing his throat, "Next time I call you, please don't come." The request was new, and it worried him.

"Why not?" He couldn't face his friend.

"Because, it's not going to fix anything. You don't have to keep coming over here and watching me," Spencer said weakly. He was giving up, but he needed Hotch to first. Was he looking for him to agree to letting him go?

"You are going to get better," Hotch said with conviction, listening to the eggs sizzle as they hit the pan.

"I'm not," his voice broke, "My head won't stop hurting, and now I'm seeing things. I hear things too sometimes."

Hotch gritted his teeth tightly, "You're stressed out, Spencer. You're depressed, and you miss Emily."

Suddenly, Spencer was standing next to him, leaning against the counter, "I do miss her, very much." It was the first time he'd admitted it out loud, and Hotch felt like they had made a small breakthrough.

"I know you do, I do too. She wouldn't want you doing this to yourself though, not for her." Spencer hung his head, his shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes.

"I think I was in love with her," another break through.

Aaron waited a moment, choosing his words carefully. This was a tender subject, and he knew that if he said the wrong thing, Reid would pull away completely. "You never told her?" He said casually, showing no emotions towards his honesty. If Reid saw any trace of pity or felt belittled, this would be over.

"No, but I felt like she knew. I wanted her to know, and now she never will." Hotch breifly wondered how angry Reid would be with him if or when Emily came back and the truth came out that him and J.J. knew all along. Chasing it away, Hotch slid the eggs onto a nearby plate.

"Spencer, the thing about love is that it doesn't have to be spoken, as long as it's felt," he finally found the courage to look into the other mans eyes. They were wide, innocent, and vulnerable; they reminded him of his first year on the team.

"Do you think she felt that I loved her?" his voice sounded pathetically hopeful, as if Hotch's answer would be solid enough to fix this. Maybe Reid could trick himself into pretending it was enough, as if Hotch's answer had come from her herself.

Something in Aaron's chest burned, and he wondered if it was his sanity, "Yes. I think if someone really does love someone else, the other people can feel it; even if that someone doesn't express it clearly." Reid was quiet then, and Hotch could almost see the gears turning in his abused mind. Hotch let him think, setting the poor excuse for a breakfast down on the table and guiding Reid back to the chair. Mechanically, Spencer ate everything Hotch put in front of him; it was the first thing Spencer had eaten without prompting, and Hotch mentally ticked off another victory.

"Can I have something of Emily's, maybe?" Reid asked slowly, unsure if he was crossing some sort of line by asking. "Nothing big, just something that smells like her, and I can look at and see her?"

The question took every ounce of faith Hotch had managed to cling too and crushed it, and he swallowed his own tears, "I'll look into what she had and try to find something perfect for you." Spencer managed a tight, forced, smile; one that wasn't as scary as the one from the night before, but it was just as broken.

"Thank you, I hope she wouldn't mind," he said absentmindedly.

"I don't think she would, I think she'd give you everything if that meant you'd be okay again."

They finished eating in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you all for the reviews!_

Hotch cleaned up while Spencer wandered off into a different room. He needed his space every once in awhile, and Hotch used the time to tidy up the aftermath of the tornado that ransacked the apartment on a regular basis. Newspapers and books were thrown about, their pages fluttering helplessly. Clothes and papers, even case files, were scattered about; and Aaron carefully organized everything back the way he figured Reid would want it when he was in the right state of mind. He'd only been here once before all of this started happening, and the place had been immaculate. Not a fiber out of place, and that scared him almost as much as Spencer's behavior.

Reid, meanwhile, was aimlessly walking around his bedroom. _'Spencer, you are troubling him,'_ the familiar voice of his mother chimed in his ear. He gritted his teeth, "He doesn't want to leave." The room was silent for a moment, and Reid foolishly wondered if she'd given up for now. He crossed back towards the door, the mirror over his dresser catching his reflection; and the reflection of someone next to him. He yelped, backing up as Emily stared at him through the mirror. _'You need to move on, I didn't love you anyway,'_ it always confused him the most that this Emily sounded exactly like his mother. He never imagined his subconscious pairing the two up. In his desperation to escape, he ran out into the hall, right into Hotch.

"Who were you talking to?" All he could manage to do was shake his head. "Are you seeing things again?" Hotch asked gently, and Reid wanted to run. He wanted to run out the front door and down to the street, and keep running. Past the B.A.U. office, and across the state line. He wanted to run as far as he could until his legs refused to hold him upright anymore and he collapsed into exhausted heep in a drain on the side of the road. He'd curl up there and die, but he'd be free. Instead, he stood rooted in place before his boss, his _friend_. Was Aaron Hotchner, his boss, his friend too? Could they be friends? He doubted it. It felt like he was an obligation that Hotch was required by his conscious to tend to. Surely Jack would rather be with his father then his Aunt?

He didn't even realize tears were dripping from his eyes until Hotch forced a tissue in his hand. Brushing the salty liquid away, he kept his eyes on the ground between their feet, waiting for Hotch to do something. "Spencer, what are you doing to yourself?" The sadness in the deep, soothing voice wasn't something he was used to hearing, and it threw him off guard. "I've seen you deal with some of the most terrible, traumatic things the world has to offer, and you've been doing it since you were a child. Why are you breaking now?" It was a rhetorical question; he'd learned that social que from paying close attention to the others, not every question was meant to be answered.

Four loud knocks on the door startled them both, and Spencer was instantly alert. Hotch took in his stance, and tried not to smile when he got the mental image of a kitten ready to pounce. Seeing as Reid didn't make a move for the door, Hotch took the liberty upon himself to check the peephole. "Morgan?" Spencer was surprised to hear Hotch say when the door opened. Morgan had stopped by a few times through out the day, and rather often after a bad case. Morgan was a good friend like that, even though Spencer wished Derek would hang out with him even when either of them didn't need comforting. He'd often considered what it would be like to be best friends with Derek Morgan, well at least best friends that extended beyond what happened at the office. Watching sport games and going to the bars; would they poke fun at each other and laugh? Of course, Spencer Reid would never ask Derek Morgan if he wanted to spend some time with him on a night they had off.

"Just coming to visit and see how you two were doing. Lucky bastards got out of some brutal paperwork," Morgan complained, flashing one of his award winning smiles Reid's way as he casually strode into the room. Hotch shut the door and joined Morgan on the couch while Reid stood quietly by the hallway. "How are you feeling, pretty boy?" The nickname was just never going to go away. He had gotten used to it, but for some reason, it bothered him when Hotch heard it; not that his boss had ever made a comment about it, but still.

"I'm alright," he lied, knowing damn well he wasn't fooling anyone. Honesty when it came to emotions just wasn't one of his strong points. Neither of them called him on his lie though, and he was grateful.

"That's good. We miss you at the office, it's just not the same without learning things we didn't need to know." Morgan's use of 'we' bothered him too. One of the 'we' was missing. He should have said, Rossi, Seaver, Garcia, and I miss you; and Emily would miss you too, only she's dead. He dropped his eyes to the floor again.

"I miss you guys too," he said quietly, trying to make it sound believable. He did miss them, but he knew he'd never be able to set foot in the B.A.U. again without hurting. He'd never be able to sit at his desk and chat with the rest of the team without his eyes straying to the now vacant desk. It would always be the big pink elephant in the room.

Morgan and Hotch started up a conversation, thankfully leaving him out of it. He didn't bother telling them he was leaving the room; he silently turned and headed down the hall to his bedroom, avoiding the mirror as he crossed to his bed. Burrowing under the covers, he hoped Hotch and Morgan wouldn't notice he had disappeared too soon, or maybe they would just leave him be for the rest of the day. He shut his eyes, a random memory crossing behind his eyelids. _'He's so life like_,' Emily had once joked. He wondered if she'd say the same thing if she saw him now.


	4. Chapter 4

He was on fire, burning from the inside out. Screaming, he was screaming; mouth open and vocal cords straining. Why couldn't he hear anything besides the constant ringing in his ears. Colors danced before his eyes, swirling and twisting into one another until he couldn't distinguish blue from red. Was he breathing? His lungs were full of liquid, smothering him. Muscles taunt, he struggled to move; his tongue slipping into the back of his throat. It wasn't even possible to swallow your own tongue, yet his was immobile in his esophagus. He was dying, this was it. Panic washed through him, and he felt his fingers curl in, digging into what ever he was laying on. Every fiber of his being tingled and went numb, the feeling you get when you loose circulation. His speeding heart rate began to slow, and he felt his lips twitch into a smile, _'I'm coming Emily.'_

Hotch tilted Reid's head back after he lowered him from the bed to the floor. His own heart was beating wildly in his chest while he pinned Reid's smaller body down, attempting to control the flailing limbs. This had happened before. Reid would have a a night terror, which morphed into a panic attack, resulting in a dangerous, seizure like reaction from Reid. The gurgling sound in Reid's throat alerted Hotch of another problem, and he gently pried the gritted teeth apart. "Spencer, wake up!" He was past comforting and straight out begging, resorting to shaking the fragile frame of his friend roughly. Reid sputtered, coughing as he pried his watery eyes open. Hotch let out a gush of relief, letting his head hang.

"Morgan? Morgan? Where's Morgan?" Reid asked unsteadily, and Hotch lifted his head to watch as Reid blinked away the blurriness in his eyes and scanned the room for his other friend.

"He left about an hour ago, would you like me to call him?" Spencer shook his head, letting his head drop back down to the floor with a thud. Hotch stared at him for a moment before slowly leaning back to give his friend space. Spencer's long, skinny fingers grasped his wrists suddenly, and Hotch leaned back down. "You need to sit up," he encouraged, tugging at Reid's arms.

"Aaron, I can't do this anymore. I need... I don't know what I need," Reid burst, frustrated.

"What are you-" Spencer's hands found his hair and he forcefully pulled Hotch's face down to his. Their lips crashed together with impossible force, his teeth breaking the skin of Reid's lip. The sudden pain made Reid jolt, a soft moan escaping him. Hotch was stunned, his lips unmoving against the desperate, persistent ministrations of the chapped ones. The kiss was inexperienced; the movements messy, harsh, and sloppy. Spencer wouldn't back down though, and he angled his face to get in closer; tongue pushed up against Hotch's clasped lips. The wet tongue wiggled and squirmed, begging for entry; an entry that Hotch wasn't sure he could grant. Reid didn't want this, he wanted relief. He wanted a distraction.

Reid growled in anger, breaking away from the kiss. "Fuck, just kiss me back." Hotch was far too shocked to reply, he just took in the wild look in the brown eyes below him. Spencer tried again, pressing their lips together while his fingers knotted painfully in Hotch's short hair. Uncertainly, Hotch slowly returned the kiss; allowing Reid's tongue to slowly explore his mouth. It was awkward and uncomfortable, but Hotch managed to stay responsive while Reid dragged in ragged breaths through his nose. Aaron tried to keep himself in check to avoid taking control of the situation, but when Reid wiggled underneath him; he felt Reid's desperate arousal straining against his thigh. The friction made Spencer break away with a gasp, exposing his neck perfectly for Hotch to bite into the pale flesh.

"Please," Spencer begged breathlessly, and Hotch's heart broke. This wasn't his friend who he had watch transform from an awkward, self-conscious, fearful boy to a trained, successful, strong, F.B.I. agent. This wasn't Spencer Reid, who was so innocent that he could do no wrong. That man would never beg, he would never curse; he would never need this to be okay.

"Please what?" Hotch's voice broke, his lips returning to sucking on Reid's long neck.

"Hurt me, fuck me, make me forget," Spencer moaned, his body curling against his. The words tore holes in Hotch's soul, and tears that hadn't fallen in years dripped from his eyes. Hidden in Spencer's neck, Hotch's rough bites turned to gentle kisses; as if they could replace the raw anguish that clung to Spencer like a second skin. Squirming, Spencer struggled to urge him along, but Hotch wouldn't budge.

"I can't do that, Reid," Hotch said after a minute, resting his forehead against the bony shoulder.

"Please," Reid squeaked, the rejection stinging his chest. He was willing to let Hotch hit him, grab him, bend him over and fuck him; and he was declining. He wasn't even good enough for that. Hurt fluttered in his belly, and he shoved at Hotch to role him away.

"I can't let you destroy yourself, Spencer. I'm your friend, and I love you. It has nothing to do with you, but under these circumstances, it wouldn't be right. I don't want to hurt you Spencer, and physical pain wont make this all go away," Hotch explained, sitting back as Reid struggled to his feet. "I'm not leaving you Spencer, and I'm not rejecting you; but you are not in the right state of mind."

As if he didn't hear him, Spencer hurried to the bathroom and shut the door, twisting the lock on the handle.


End file.
